Red Alert!
by Lord of the Saiyans
Summary: SkyNet has won. The Resistance is reeling, and it seems that the machines must surely have their victory. Except.. there is a region from which no Terminator has ever returned, they say help comes from the most unlikely places.
1. Chapter 1

The transport gunship, flanked by six HKs in strict formation, shot over the forest. Skimming just above the thick branches. The cries of startled birds and animals exploded from the leafy forest as they flew overhead. This was of absolutely no concern to SkyNet, and by extension, those on board the transport. All that mattered in all of existence, was the current mission. Nothing was worth failing the mission. Nothing. Maybe at some point, SkyNet would see fit to change the mission and then, the new mission would be all important. Until then, there was nothing they would not sacrifice, no task too heinous.

The forest was young and not yet very tall. How it was growing at all in these radiation infested territories was a mystery in itself. A secret that SkyNet was not currently attempting to probe into. It had far worse things to think about. For example, five separate Terminator forces had been lost in this region and regions like it. SkyNet could find no explanation; supposedly, the radiation was still too high for biological live to exist in any normal capacity, and yet this clearly was incorrect. The only plausible reason this could have happened was if an outside agency had taken steps to reduce the radiation and had already beaten off multiple probing attacks. Thus, this task-force. Eight of the new T-101 supported by six HKs and all the fire-power that the gunship could bring to bear. SkyNet was anticipating a quick end to the fight and a speedy return to normality.

Fat chance of that.

The leading HK had already gone into tracking mode, scanning for any threats or targets. The others quickly followed and together, they were able to offer the transport all the protection it could possibly need .

**Closing on destination. Hostiles spotted: 0. Kills: 0. Losses 0. **

Smoothly, they changed formation. Fluidly, the highest of high technology incorporated into their bodies making it little effort to achieve speed and control that any human pilot would have trouble keeping in hand. The machines did it with ease, as if performing or attempting to awe anyone who might be watching. Someone was certainly watching, but they were not awed.

__

It was dark in the command bunker, a defuse red light was just enough to let them work by but not enough to allow them to make out distinctive features of each other. This was the way the commander liked it, and who were they to argue with him? The one who had saved them from their own, doomed existence and brought them here to this forest, where they could rebuild and rise again?

Boris was watching the main display as it zoomed in on the intruders, he spat, " Bah," he said in a heavy Russian accent, " back home we eat tougher things for breakfast."

A man was outlined by the red light, sitting in his throne of a chair, one hand resting on the battle-control linking system. His uniform was, as always, spotless. He wore his medals with pride, every one of them from a long career in the armed forces. His face was obscured by the darkness, but one could make out the pistol strapped to his side well enough.

" A bigger force this time," he said, his accent not as strong as that of his comrade, but enough to show that he was indeed Russian. " it suspects."

" It would be a fool not too," Boris countered, " we can let them pass if you will, continue to build up our forces."

The man -- the Commander -- seemed to consider this for a minute, " No, we risk discovery every minute we delay. We will end this charade now."

He raised his voice, " Patch me through to sectors two and three."

A mechanical voice answered from the screen before him, " connection established."

The commander leaned forwards, the red light bathing his face and upper body. Two faces appeared on the screen, both of them nodded to him in respect, " Commander."

" Generals," he said simply, " the time has come."

" You mean?"

" Yes, begin the next phase of the plan. We are prepared?"

"We are!" They answered at once.

He smiled, " Then let us take back the world that rightfully belongs to us, gentlemen. Red alert, prepare for war."

__

**SkyNet Sector 0059 **

The HK-assault force continued unaware of what was going on, until a sudden movement drew their attention, spinning, they opened fire and reduced the trees between them and the target to so much timber. For a minute, it was still and then.... It moved.

**Unidentified tank Target lock, arming missiles **

Inside the tank, the call came through, " Comrades, it is begun."

The tank commander grinned to himself, " Apocalypse tank, at your service."

Before the HK squad could act on their chosen course, the ground below them exploded . Flack filled the air as the trucks burst from their ambush points, More of the massive tanks loomed through the foliage and fired barrages of rockets, two of the HKs died then, the rest spun, returning fire with precision firing, but it wasn't enough. Out gunned and surrounded, they were ripped to pieces in the hail of shrapnel. The transport crashed to the ground trailing flames.

The T-101s were still intact however and fully capable of punching their way out of the wreckage. This they did, launching whatever weapons they had at the indistinct forms of the surrounding tanks. One of them died in a messy explosion as a plasma rifle hit something important. The T-101s adjusted their firing solution and were soon causing some damage as the tank shells thudded around them. They moved as well, using the trees to attempt to avoid return fire as they engaged the tanks and flak-trucks.

A sudden flash of boiling electricity threw one of the 101s roughly to the ground, it smoked gently, CPU cooked.

The other spun, their plasma weapons ripping apart the man who had taken one of their number. It was no use, however, and they knew it. The flak-trucks were unable to target them, but the tanks could,m and despite the fact that they were designed to engage other heavy-armour. A direct hit from one of their shells would easily dispose of a T-101. More of the figures were appearing through the trees and the Terminators switched to infantry mode, firing short, rapid bursts and felling as men as they could before they were overwhelmed.

There was a sudden storm of electrical power as all of the Tesla-Troopers opened fire at once, and contact was lost.

__

**SkyNet sector C-46, Moscow. **

For the first time, human air ships ploughed the skies above the ruined buildings. Explosions ripped across the dead city, sending Terminators flying as SkyNet forces mounted a desperate counter-attack.

The only SkyNet base in the centre was alive with activity as HK squads launched as quickly ass they could, roaring across the distance and spitting plasma at their targets, it was enough to fell many of the might war-Zeppelins, but their escorts quickly returned fire and the HKs were engaged.

Meanwhile, the Anti-air towers in the SkyNet base lit up as the enemy came upon them, with deafening shrieks and cries, the zeppelins fell, but enough were left, a single order was given and carpeting bombing initiated. The grinning mouths painted on the front of the Kirov airships seemed to be mocking SkyNet even as they obliterated them.

__

**Sector G-89**

SkyNet base C-23 was totally unprepared as they came over the hill, like a line of marching ants, coming inexorably to crush the ones who had driven humanity to the brink of extinction. Ten, twenty, thirty, forty, more. Tanks of all seizes, many possessing ant-air abilities to deal with the HK squads dispatched to slow them.

When they hit the base, they hit it like a hammer. Gun-fire rang out as the perimeter defences kicked in, burning many of the tanks where they stood. Many more survived, and sheer numbers would have guaranteed their victory, even if nothing else had. The signature Soviet Apocalypse Tank was of course on the front-lines, forming the spearhead even as it crashed through the walls. Ednos swarmed around them like insects, but they were picked off by the accompanying infantry. A Kirov airship rose in the distance, trailing a Soviet banner in the sky for the first time in many years, as the SkyNet base burned to the ground.

__

Command Bunker.

The Commander relaxed into his seat as the reports were sent directly to him.

" It worked perfectly" he said, " SkyNet was caught unprepared for the Soviet Union's return, they were crushed underfoot in many engagements. We have taken land in several dozen areas. MCVs are being dispatched to build up footholds now. We will hold this land until our dying breath, SkyNet is reeling, and we can launch many new attacks. And reclaim this world for the Union."

" So, Commander, does this mean its over?"

The Commander, the one who had been there, been there to guide the Union so many times in the past, smiled " No, comrade. It has just begun."

__


	2. Battle for Sector 32

A heavy shower of acidic rain pelted the field, so recently torn up by war. It drummed a faint and persistent tune against the hulking wreck of a broken down apocalypse tank. It cooled the fires that still lingered, feeding off the ruins of a hunter-killer. It mixed with mud turning the field into something more akin to a bog, sucking at the bodies littering the ground within it, both metal and biological. The rain seemed to sing as it soaked the battlefield, washing away the blood and the oil and the loose parts. The rain sang a song of death. Echoed through the centuries as long as mankind had existed.

Something stirred. There was a whine of servos, and the tracks of a fallen medium tank were forced aside, a dripping, inhuman figure rose from the indent they had made in the ground. It was like a warped, twisted skeleton conjured from a nightmare, patches of its body had melted and mud ran from it like blood. Its red eyes made it truly a ghastly sight. It looked like a ghost or ghoul, rising from the field of battle to feast upon the corpses of the fallen. In fact, it was worse than this. The SkyNet T-800 dropped to its metal knees, its right hand groping around in the deep field of mud, its left didn't move at all -- it had been crushed by an impact and was now useless.

While it searched, its CPU rapidly ran through a series of diagnostics.

**Re-Initializing....**

**Boot-Up engaged....**

**Designation: SkyNet T-800 Series 101. **

**Damage assessment: Critical. Significant damage to Endoskeleton, Endorskeleton 100% exposed. Malfunction in left leg, slight reduction in ability, CPU intact. Integrity of CPU housing holding at 62.2%. Power management dropped to 72% and declining. Left arm is none-responsive, attempts to reactivate it have failed. Damage to primary energy cell 0.2%. Situation: Highly volatile. **

**Overall Condition: Critical. ETA to total systems failure: 12 Hours 23 minutes 14 seconds. **

**Recommendation: Return to nearest SkyNet facility for repairs and re-armament. **

**Time at current speed to nearest SkyNet facility: 5 hours. 34 minutes. **

The machine found what it was looking for and stood up holding the barrel of a plasma-rifle. Using a lumbering gait, it set for for what a human might term ''home.'' Rain and mud dripped off it and the field sucked at its feet, but the killing machine continued onwards without pausing. The rain had begun in earnest now, thunder rumbled high in the sky and lightening crackled.

Damaged, systems failing one after another, the T-800 made made its way to the crumbled remainder of a road. It had once been solid concrete, but time and war had scarred it as much as the rest of the world. Entire sections had been melted or peeled away and you could hardly go three steps without putting your foot on rocks or dirt. The T-800 paused to survey the area and found no threats. Emboldened, it set out. In its current suboptimal state, it didn't notice that the bumps in the road were both too large, and far too regular to be anything but man-made.

__

Boris ducked awkwardly, the plasma-round missed him by inches, but the shock sent a wave of pain through his side as the intense heat blistered his skin under the tesla-suit. The round continued past him and before he could shout a warning, it killed the conscript taking cover behind the him. He raised his tesla-gun and fired a stream of hissing, spitting electricity, it earth in the nearest skeletal soldier drone, dropping the thing as its CPU roasted in an instant. Sensing danger, Boris ducked back down again. Not fast enough. A second near miss passed his chest and he fought back the pain with sheer determination.

The siren was still wailing, as if anyone could still be unaware of the attack. The only ones who didn't know were those who had died in the initial wave of expendable HKs. The walls had been breached, and were now only so much rubble intermixed with the bodies of brave Soviet soldiers. Most of the automatic defences were destroyed or offline. There was no self-deceptionb possible now, no tricks or lies that he could use to avoid facing the truth. The situation was bad. But that was why Boris, and be extension, his personal unit were here, they where the best. He hefted his gun again, the long tubing that connected it to his suit had once seemed restrictive in combat and he could remember worrying about tripping over it, but now he didn't even notice it. He did feel the surge of electricity building around him, and watched as it discharged into one of the bigger tank-things with the repeating plasma-cannons. It did little damage. It seemed that unlike the grunt troopers, these big ones were hardened against electrical interference. Two flake-troopers fired on it from their cover behind one of the surviving defences, the brief flare of their weapons did little but give away their position and do some superficial scarring to the ground HK. It swivelled and gunned them down where they stood. Boris growled felt each impact as if it was his own body being shot, and he fired again. Still nothing. With enough tesla-troopers or a higher charge he knew full well he could destroy this thing, but without back-up he was no use to anyone. Frustration mingled with anger as he searched for a more easily defeated foe. Suddenly The HK was engulfed by a raging torrent of electrical energy, like a high-powered strike from a thunder-storm. The sparks leapt and hissed as they consumed the hunter-killer, it blew out, dying as it was totally overloaded. Its hardened system still no match for the primordial power of lightening. Turning to see what had happened, Boris realized that the war-factory was still active! A tesla-tank had just rolled out of the door, and its first targets were the big threats.

Suddenly, a trio of aerial HKs shot overhead, discharging their payloads into the tank, it exploded and burned where it stood. Boris could hear screams as the nearest soldiers were hurled like toys by the explosion. Their bodies impacted sickeningly The defenders of the war-factory were few now, using burning vehicle husks for cover, they formed a rude circle around the building. Endoskeletons poured fire into their position, like aim-bots, tracking any motion no matter how slight and delivering death with pin-point accuracy. The ground was littered with bloody soldiers who had met their end this way. The barracks was worse, the endos had actually forced entry and were now in the process of purging all resistance. The conyard was better, four tesla-coils still stood around it, walls had been erected when the attack started and the enemy endos were being overloaded as they approached. A few squads of tesla-troopers had set up a position there, they were currently charging the coils, but were ready to rapidly redeploy if a breach was made.

Boris raised his communication-device -- the techs had put them together for the higher-ups, it was akin to the HUD display of commanders in the field. It allowed instant communications between positions on the other side of the world.

" Commander," Boris said, over the screams and sounds of weapon fire, " sector 32 is lost. Enemy machines have breached the base perimeter in multiple locations, they have compromised the barracks and are in the process of doing the same to the war-factory. The construction yard is still secure for now. We don't have much time, my remaining forces will hold this ground until our last breath, but we don't have the power required to actually retake it. We need reinforcements."

The answer was as swift as Boris could ever have hoped it would be, " Request confirmed, I'm diverting a battle-force of Kirovs to clear the skies and help re-supply you now. Make sure that they don't capture the conyard, Boris, or else we may lose our technological edge in this conflict."

" Understood commander."

The battle went on, the barracks was lost and Boris was forced to detonate it remotely -- leaving the building a broken shell with flames licking up around it. Let them get information from that! He thought savagely. The war-factory went next, falling to a sustained assault supported by four arial HKs. The surviving troops bundled around the construction yard's walls. Boris herded the stragglers there, his silver-clad form drawing fire from every endo in the field of battle.

His keen eyes spotted two conscripts pinned down under the ruins of a wall section, four endos were providing fire-support while two more sneaked around each side. Boris saw instantly that they were dead if he didn't help them, and probably were dead even if he did help them. But that was what he was here for. Gathering his courage he ran straight for them, bullets and plasma rounds exploded around him and he prayed that he wouldn't be hit before he could complete his task. Somthing flashed past him and he recognised an old medium tank. Good, he could use that later. Despite everything that had happened to him, Boris was an idealist, he had always felt that it was his duty to die for his men if the need arose. His gun discharged a sweeping blast of lightening, taking down one of the attackers and drawing the attentions of the others. The conscripts turned and ran just as he had hoped that they would, and Boris ducked under the cover provided by the medium tank. Judging by the gaping wounds in its body, it had been a victim of the first wave of HKs. Idly, he wondered if there were any survivors inside.

Boris waited a few seconds, gasping for air and catching his breath. He knew that if he stayed here, the endos would surely kill him. But if he made a break for it, there would be no cover between him and the conyard walls which were now under siege. Deciding to trade certain death for uncertain death, he made a break for it again. This time, the endos were ready, and the hail of fire tracked him as he moved. Desperately, Boris zig--zagged, heart pounding in his chest, every second he expected the flash of pain that would signify a hit, and then the others that would surely follow and put an end to his resistance.

His luck held and he made it almost to the very gates of the conyard walls, the soldiers there reached out to grab him and suddenly, he felt that pain he had been dreading. Like a puppet with its strings cut, Boris felt himself flop forwards, the force of the impact putting him off balance. Years of combat experiance rushed to his aid and he steadied himself and managed to keep going. _ No time to rest now, soldier. You stop, you die! _ For a further instant that seemed to stretch into eternity shots pounded around him then a strong arm grabbed his and he was hauled into the safety of the walls.

" Medic!" He ordered through gritted teeth. Forcing back the pain through sheer will-power, he stood and unleashed a crackling torrent of electricity. Another metal skeleton died, and then another. The surviving defenders were certainly giving a good accounting of themselves but there were more. Always more. The endoskeletons didn't duck or take cover, they didn't scream when they died. They made no sound, just the thump of their feet and the screams of their guns. Boris had fought many enemies in his day -- the Allies, of course, even poor Soviets who had been brainwashed by that traitor, Yuri. None of them had ever seemed so... soulless. Low as they were, even high-command grudgingly admitted the Allies were human. The brain-washed masses that had risen against mother Russia at the beck of Yuri had reacted to pain like any other soldier, they'd screamed or cried out even crapped themselves. These robots didn't do anything but keep fighting, Boris wagered he could kill a hundred, or a million and the others would just keep coming at him, never learning. Always coming. Until they finally got him. And that inspired a kind of fear he'd never felt before. Fear of a death which these skeletal robots seemed to represent.

He fell with a scream, the wound in his gut suddenly growing in intensity. a flurry of purple shots arched over head, and he knew that would have killed him if he hadn't fallen. Then Boris struck the ground hard and agony flashed through his battered body, groggily he felt his weapon fly from his hands. The world was going red around him, Boris was finding it harder and harder to think straight. Instinct took over, he groped for his gun and gathered the strength to stand again. Images of the mother-land gave him strength as he remembered what he was fighting for. In the last world, they would have no peace. In this new one, war was being made on all mankind. So then it was up to the very best specimens of mankind to stand up and say ''no''.

Suddenly, the corpse of a dead soldier struck him, forcing him back to the ground with a suddenness and an agony he had never before felt. Boris couldn't even scream as the world turned black around him.

__

Boris struggled back to full conscious with a herculean effort. The pain in his body had been reduced to a low throbbing sensation, but he knew that if he moved even a fraction of a hair, it would be back in full force. Still vividly remembering the pain that had knocked him out, he decided to lie still and wait for it to fade enough that he could go for his gun. After that, he'd assess the situation and see how the battle was going. If he could link up with the defenders he would, if he was cut off then the only course left to him was to take as many of the metal scum down as he could before they fried him.

Suddenly, the gunfire ceased. The quiet seemed sombre and brooding as Boris lay with his eyes pressed tightly closed. He prayed -- not to any particular God, as religion was discouraged in the USSR as a tool of Capitalism to force workers to labour in in this life so that they would get a better one when they died. The sound didn't resume, the silence was threatening, drawing around him like a sea. He was drowning in it, sinking below its waves. He was the only soldier left alive. That the defenders might have surrendered did not even enter his head. He was the only one left, where was the air-cover that the Commander had promised? No point in wondering, he decided grimly, it could do little good now. The USSR soldiers were dying or dead, there was no doubt about that. Then the conyard was in enemy hands, because he was sure that it would have woken him if it had blown. He was also sure that it still sheltered a few defenders within its walls, but they wouldn't be able to hold out for long.

Suddenly, a metal foot crushed a small stone beside his head, the splinters cut him, drawing blood. He couldn't help it, his eyes snapped open and as the sun-light shone into his eyes and his head seemed to explode with returning pain, he saw the face of a T-800 looking down at him. A strong arm locked around his neck, dragging his complaining body to its feet. He felt dizzy, and unconsciousness threatened to claim him again. With a great burning anger, he fought it back. How dare these machines turn on mankind, their creators? How dare they strike Soviet bases. They had crushed the USSR in their own time-line, of this he had no doubt. Was he going to let them do the same to his one? The USSR that had raised him in the fields of battle, on a diet of war and blood?

No! He would fight. He still had one last card to play, one last ace up his sleeve. His left arm hung free, secured to it was his COM-Device. If he could raise it and muster the energy to speak the words then the situation might yet be salvaged. In his right hand, he realized with a flash of grim joy, he still clutched the handle of his Tesla-Gun. The one that had been custom-made and presented to him by the Commander as a reward for loyal services. It was smaller than the traditional version wielded by most tesle-troopers. Now he was glad of that. In his condition he doubted he would ever have been able to heft the full sized version, but he might just be able to move this one.

He took all the will-power that had allowed him to survive and even thrive in the Soviet Tesla-Corps that was said to be one of the toughest organisations in the world. He forced it into his weak, weary, shaky limbs. He felt them steady, it would only last for a second, he knew he didn't have much left. It would be enough though.

His right arm moved like a flash, darting upwards and discharging a full load of electricity into the chest of his captor, the T-800 jerked back, systems desperately dumping energy to keep it functional. In slow motion, Boris felt himself fall again, and knew that the impact would probably kill him this time. Or at least render him immobile while he bled out. He forced his legs to support him, though he felt as weak as a kitten and as shaky as a newborn deer. His breaths came in great, ragged gasps and his lungs were on fire with pain. His left arm rose despite this, despite the complains of the muscle and bone, until the com-device was positioned before his mouth. He spoke into it then.

" Overload."

Then he felt the strength leave him and he collapsed for the last time, he was gone before his body even touched the ground.

The com-device activated, operation overload was put into effect. Every single surviving reactor super-charged, ignoring all safeties procedures, instantly killing anyone in or near them. They began to break down almost at once, and after this last time, they would never be usable again. Least not without a full overhaul at such price that it would simply be easier to build a new reactor. Energy gathered, they dumped all their power into the circuits of all surviving command buildings. Instantly frying anything and everything hooked up to the mains. Delicate instruments died too, of course, all Soviet data was destroyed by the surge of power. As it faded, the wave of energy blew a specific portion of the Construction Yard, releasing certain chemicals and kindling a small fire that quickly grew bigger. An explosion rocked the foundations of the conyard, then another, and another, as the ground itself seemed to shake. Boris last thought, before darkness claimed him, was that the machines were welcome to whatever was left.

__

" Commander! We've lost all contact with the base in sector 31. Last recorded data-burst indicted a massive breach with more than ninety percent of the defenders dead or otherwise immobilized. Last reading was of a surge of power flooding the mains -- it seemed to be an overload, comrade."

The Soviet Commander's head snapped sideways from the screen on which he was directing the master strategy that would enable them to achieve ultimate victory. His eyes read the report in seconds, finding nothing amiss with the other man's statement. A sense of grief descended on him and the pit dropped out of his stomach. _ Boris. _Coldly, he distanced himself from the emotion. War was risk, Boris had known what he was getting in to when he headed to the base. The Commander would be sure to honour his memory in the next monument to the heroes of the USSR but right now there was little more that could be done for him. Still, a few things did need sorting out.

" What happened to the air-cover I dispatched?"

The lieutenant looked down at his screen, then back up at the Commander. He tried to force himself not to blink but it was impossible. This man practically _was _the USSR It was he who had stood against the Allies, against Yuri. He was like Lenin, a hero of the USSR. The man who had risen from the masses and led them to victory after victory.

" They were intercepted, a few miles east of the position. That battle is still going on, but the Kirov commander is reporting that they will soon have victory."

The Commander nodded, as if this fit in with a private time-table he had drown up himself, " Have them withdraw after the battle. There is nothing they can do for that base now. An overload will have left nothing of value."

" Yes, comrade."

The man bent back to his work, but his mind was unsettled. He knew that comrade Boris, who had been the closest thing the Commander had to a friend had been in that base. The Commander was basically abandoning any chance that Boris was still alive so that the Kirov battle-group could be re-assigned where they were needed. Yes, the Commander was a fine man and a hero of the Union.

Just so long as you were never in his way.

__

The damaged T-800 limped onwards. It never stopped and never rested, time was counting down and it had to be repaired before it lost all the power it had left to it. It could feel its systems getting slower and slower, and as much as a Terminator could have an opinion, it didn't like it. Its rifle was still in hand, though, and it constantly scanned the surrounding war-gouged fields for enemies to kill. In its weakened state, the T-800 did not notice that the lumps that had been dug out of the path it trod upon looked far too regular to be natural.

Under the ground, motion sensors detected the tread of metal feet. Estimating the weight put on the ground, a primitive AI decided that it was too heavy to be a human and not big enough to be a tank or tracked vehicle. This triggered certain perimeters and the AI contacted four others like it, they acknowledged in nano-seconds and the three drones linked together.

The T-800 whirled around as the terror-drones burst from the ground, one on other side and one behind it. They saw it move, and detected its weakness. This matched other perimeters and the drones switched from ''kill'' mode to ''capture intact''. The T-800, however did no such thing. Its plasma rifle bisected one of the drones before they even started their attack. It spluttered sparks and died, the others leapt at the damaged Terminator. The T-800 spun again, catching the second drone with a barrage of accurate blasts to the underside. Killing it as easily as the first. It turned to the third with a spray of fire. Now, the damage showed. Its compromised CPU was unable to properly compute the course of the third drone and its shots went wide. It tried to fire again, but it had no time, the drone barrelled into it with ta strength born of four mechanical legs.

Discarding its rifle, the T-800 pushed against the underside of the drone, legs locked behind its back and the drone began to squeeze, intending to hold the T-800 until reinforcements arrived. Seeing this plan, the T-800 tried to leaver the legs open. Metal fought metal as terminator and drone warred for dominance, there was a cracking sound, a shower of sparks and the legs began to part. The Terminator continued, applying the awesome brute-strength that was the trademark of its model.

The drone switched to a new plan, while it still held the terminator, a cutting tool emerged from its underside and began to rip through the T-800's armour. The USSR needed SkyNet technology, they didn't need it in one piece. The T-800's sensors screamed in warning.

**Integrity Compromised! Power-core in danger!**

If a machine could be desperate. this one was. It turned around and smashed a rock-like fist into the underside of the drone. Armour bent and buckled, but didn't break. The terror drone continued to tear into the T-800's interior. The terminator's CPU was rapidly scaling forwards the time-scale until total shut-down. The machine struck back again and again, the armour bent and then ruptured. Using its single remaining hand, the T-800 grabbed ahold of a jagged edge of metal and pulled with all its might. The terror-drone paused in its drilling, innards exposed. Scenting victory, the T-800 launched one last punch into the internal systems of its adversary. The terror-drone collapsed, spurting sparks and liquids. Pushing it aside, the T-800 got to its feet. Now it was really in danger. The attack had drained it of power, and worse, had inflicted even greater damage on an already stressed endoskeleton.

This only made its return to the facility more urgent than ever. Suddenly, a metal leg smashed through its back, protruding below the power-cell. The T-800 looked down and then around. A fourth drone had burst from the ground while the third kept it distracted. Apparently, the third had been relaying data because the fourth struck exactly for the hole made by its late brother. Anywhere else and the results might not have been so dramatic. The blow had snapped power-lines and the T-800 just had time to reach forwards in a vein attempt to engage its enemy before the CPU was deprived of power and it went limp.

The terror drone secured its prize to its back and then was off. Four legs covering ground much faster than two had ever done. Already in the distance, the walls of the nearest Soviet base could be seen.

__

Pain seemed a distant memory to Boris now, as he swam lazily in the blackness around him. His mind wandered and he let it, remembering the days when as a young boy, he had lived with his parents in a small Soviet city near Leningrad. There's had been a peaceful life, true communists all, the Cheka had seldom bothered them as they had other nearby towns and cities. Then one day, after the work schedule had been completed, he had been taken to see a museum. Most of the stuff there had been low-grade propaganda, Boris had known that even then. Captured uniforms and the like, but in the very centre of the museum Boris had found his calling in life. There, he saw the broken and beaten, but still intact form of an old Mammoth Tank. The kind that modern Apocalypse tanks were descended from. Its sides had been scarred and riddled with marks from bullets and explosions, but to Boris it had seemed like an old friend. Later he learned that this particular Mammoth had stormed the fields during the first war between the USSR and the Allies, and had been instrumental in preserving the Union. That day, Boris had found his destiny.

" Damn, the metal hit this place hard."

Voices interrupted Boris's musings, but in his fogy state he didn't recognise the language and besides, he was busy trying to bleed to death over here.

" Yeah, not like them to burn the buildings. Normally they keep 'em as staging posts. I guess these guys put up a real fight, huh? Any idea who they were? Resistance?"

" No, I don't recognise the uniform. Probably a surviving military element. You get 'em now and again. Don't usually last long. SkyNet makes 'em top priority so they don't give guns or tanks to the rest of us."

There was a pause, then the voice spoke again, " 'cept I don't recognise a lot of the equipment here. Take these rifles, they look like Ak-47s but I ain't never seen this type before, and those other guns with the suits? Who knows what they do?"

" Guess we should report back, then?"

" Yeah, no more survivors here. I think we've saved everyone that we're going to."

The mention of survivors breathed new life into Boris, if any of his men still lived then his iron-clad sense of duty would not allow him to just lay down and die. He groaned and tried to attract attention, but even that was too much and unconsciousness took him yet again..

___

Pain brought him back to the world of the living with a gurgled scream on his lips, he was loaded onto some kind of truck and the bouncing of the motion was sending agony lancing through his body every few seconds.

He recognised the sounds of explosions outside, and decided that this plus the break-neck speed the seemed to be going at indicted they were being chased.

A face appeared in front of him, pale and concerned looking. Blue eyes, she was dressed in a white coat. her hands were red with blood. She cursed, " He's awake! Wounds have opened again, I knew that stitching couldn't hold. Get down here and help, he doesn't have much time. Someone hold him down! This is going to hurt."

Strong arms locked around him and though Boris could easily have broken free in his prime, he struggled in vein. More words were spoken, it was English, the Russian realised. He could speak the language tolerably and understand it well enough. The woman reached for his side and a new wave of agony took away all pretence of thought.

___

When Boris surfaced once more, the jolting had stopped and the agony in his body and retreated to a painful throbbing evenly distributed throughout him. His wounds had been closed by the feel of it, the stitches weren't the most expertly placed but he was grateful for them. He realised he had no control over his body, ether he was drugged, or he just needed a lot of rest to recover from his ordeal. Ether way, only time would tell.

Closing his eyes, he let oblivion take him.

___

When he woke again, Boris felt stronger and more in control. At first he only opened his eyes, blinking away the brightness, he was in a steel room. It looked like a bunker of vault of some kind. He realised that all the light was coming from the lamps -- no windows. Combined with the feel of the place, Boris decided he was underground. A little later, he felt well enough to move his head. Though doing so gained him waves of agony, he was able to make out more beds and various machines hooked up to the people in the beds. They all bore wounds of some kind, and Boris decided he was in a hospital.

An underground hospital? That screamed ''resistance''. Boris was aware that there was a Resistance that fought the machines, but had never really paid it any heed. It had always seemed so small and powerless compared to the mighty USSR but now his life might lay in his ability to communicate with the Resistance and form some kind of deal.

He weighed the state of his body and wondered if he was well enough to get up and walk yet. It was certainly worth trying, but if he he did try, and he wasn't ready then he might do even more damage to his body. Besides, he felt heavy and cold. He didn't think he had the strength to move much at all.

He heard a door open and a man walked into the ward. He was dressed like a soldier, a scar ran from one check down to his neck and even in here, he hadn't abandoned a pistol. He hadn't shaved in a good long time. He saw Boris was awake and walked over to his bed.

" Nice to see you up and about, command was getting jumpy and your men were asking questions. Boris, isn't it? I'm sergeant Hawkmen, I've been re-assigned as your aid, and also your adviser. Basically, I'm the guy you go to to get something done."

Boris realized that Hawkmen didn't seem at all happy with this state of affairs.

He switched to English, a language had had had no cause to use in years, " My...men.."

Hawkmen nodded, " Several survivors, not many I'm afraid."

Boris's heart sank, how many men had he led to their deaths? How many others had made it out? He didn't even know most of their names.

" Now," said Hawkmen into the resulting silence, " mind telling us exactly where you guys came from, how you're so well-supplied and how the Hell you have access to tanks and technology we've never seen before?"

____

**Moscow**

**Codename: Sector 1 **

**Former USSR stronghold. **

Modified terror drones roamed the streets picking at the worst of the ruins and the craters. The few survivors who lived in the skeletal city could only look on in amazement as building by building and block by block, it was brought back to life. MCVs set up in the worst places, providing instant construction ability and resource access.

In red square. the beginnings of a major Soviet base could be seen. Row upon row of tesla-coils sparked and hissed. Flame-towers covered each entrance, petrols of dogs and conscripts ensured there were no unwelcome guests. The Kirov that had appeared during the USSR's glorious return still floated above the city bearing the flag of the Union. Apocalypse tanks stood ready beside each command building, gleaming in the light of the new morning.

Inside the Command Centre, it was the controlled chaos of war. Low ranking men and women scurried past on errands and holding important files. Soon, the Commander would be arriving to take over the running of the Moscow base and they wanted everything to be ready. So maybe it was just luck, or maybe it was fate or fortune or whatever you want to call it that this particular machine had not yet been hooked up to the main computer system. Though supplied with power, it could do little but beep to itself in an empty room. According to regulations, someone should have been in with it every hour of every day until it was fused with the rest of the systems. That no one was there was bad luck, that no one was there at this particular minute was even worse. It beeped loudly then a voice spoke, clearly a pre-recording, it said in neutral tones,

" Warning. Modified Chronosphere detected."

It was just bad luck for the USSR that no one was here to listen to its warnings, and that it had not yet been connected. If it had been, its message would have been recorded, as was, no one knew. And the machine lapsed back into silence.


End file.
